No One There To Watch Me Die
by subtle-temptation
Summary: Bella got tired of waiting. There was no emotion, nothing. She made her decision, but the decision had already been made for her. That September had taken her life away. He wasn't coming back.


**Oneshot. Bella gets tired of waiting for Edward to come back. **

**Inspiration: "What Sarah Said," by Death Cab for Cutie.**

**r&r., please.**

* * *

I rocked back and forth gently, staring at the wall.

I was blank. There was no emotion. There was nothing, nothing but the blood in my body, the slow, aching beat of my empty heart. Time was up. And it was my call, yet it was not.

My decision had been made for me last September, but I hadn't accepted it. I had held on.

Now, it was time to let go.

Gently, I let the white envelope hover above my nightstand. For one moment, I hesitated. For one moment, the guilt returned. But the guilt was nothing; there _was_ nothing. I let the envelope flutter onto the hard wooden surface, my fingers falling limp.

_Dad,_

_Sorry. I love you. It's not your fault._

_What's the point of living if there's no life to live?_

_Bella._

The other envelope had already been placed, just on the outside frame of my window. There was a name on this one, though. Maybe he... Edward... would find it, one day.

The name caused physical pain to shudder through my body. I gasped, and clutched at my sides, and couldn't help but grin. Pain. Pain was good. It was something, at least.

Slowly, taking the last look I would ever get at my home, I walked downstairs. My fingers dragged lightly along the banister of the steps, my head tilted slightly to the side. Into the kitchen I went, touching all that I could, glimpsing what I might miss if I ever felt again, in hell. Slowly, carefully, I opened the silverware drawer. Once upon a time, the gun would have been my first option, but _feeling_, feeling was what I wanted. What pain would a bullet give me?

My fingers rested on a short, slim knife. Nothing too flashy, but the point was sharp enough. It would perform my task well enough.

I shut the drawer and walked back upstairs, dragging my hands along the walls. Walls that held years of painful memories. Memories I didn't want to think about, but memories that suffocated me. In truth, I had already died.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring out the window. I tried to summon something up, to let emotion well deep inside of me.

Would I miss this life, I asked myself?

_No._

Will I resent this decision?

_No._

Will he miss me?

_No._

I stopped. I was done with the stupid inquiries.

I took the handle lightly in the grip of my right hand. And then, slowly, as if I were sketching, I pulled it in a long, vertical line along the skin of my wrist. It was an outline, a guide, for where I would let the last, painful echoes of life seep out.

Then, taking a shuddering breath, my eyes still open and my head still tilted, I pressed the point into my skin, and dragged it slowly, deliberately, almost like a brush stroke,--but with more force--down my wrist.

I breathed in again relishing the feeling. Then, without realizing it, my face still blank with my mouth now slightly opened, the tears fell. I don't know where they came from--I hadn't summoned them up, nor had my nonexistent emotions. I wondered vaguely, but my mind was focused on the blood.

Ironic, wasn't it, that the girl who would faint at the smell of blood would now make herself bleed? It was as if life was playing some cruel joke at me, as if someone were, watching, laughing.

But there was no one there to watch me die.

The crimson was a flood, spilling past the dam that had been my skin. It seemed to love the opportunity to be free, gushing from my veins without restraint.

I didn't feel the weakness, the faintness tugging at my brain. There was only relief--relief that the torture would end soon, that it would all be over.

Then, I picked up the knife with my bloodstained fingers, the left ones, dragging the point quickly across my skin this time, letting my body weep crimson. I sighed, and rested my head against the headboard. My eyes had yet to close. It was close now, very close.

I began to slide down the headboard.

_I sit in a meadow, curled up while his body throws rainbows..._

Lower, lower. I was sinking.

_His lips press against mine for the first time, and I react with burning passion..._

My head was on the pillow. This burning felt good, too.

_He promises to stay with me..._

My pulse was slowing, and the blood flowed with less energy to join the stains around me, now.

_"I love you..."_

Then, as I exhaled for the last time, I closed my eyes.

_"You're not good for me, Bella."_

There was a rush of feeling.

And then nothing.

- - - -

He watched through the window, into an empty room, one devoid of life.

Then he took the note.

_Edward,_

_I love you. I'm not sorry. It's what's best for both of us._

_Too bad you weren't there to watch me die._

_Bella._

An agonized cry tore from his lips,

because he was there. He had seen only the closing of her eyes, but he was there.

He had been there to watch her die.


End file.
